I’ve not written much here lately, mostly because my mind has been occupied with editing my almost completed novel and starting a new history book project. I think perhaps I have “found my stride” in this retirement phase of my life. And I have hesitated to express too much satisfaction with my life, lest I tempt the devil, as my grandmother once cautioned. A young girl doesn’t soon forget that sort of admonition. “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” But I’m not haughty about my current situation, only happy. I’m doing what I love, and the reward has been the doing, not any sort of recognition for it. That’s an important realization for me. When I was young I dreamed of fame and fortune in return for my efforts in writing. Clearly that has not been the path God chose for me and yet I’m quite content with my circumstances.

I’ve thought a lot lately about my childhood, with an emphasis on my teen years, because I spent a couple of weeks putting together a Shutterfly book of the 51 moves I’ve made in life. Three of those moves were disruptive, disappointing and life-changing because they occurred when I was a teenager. Reliving some of those feelings was cathartic. I didn’t realize I could still be emotional about those long-ago events. However, I’m very happy with the book and I’m thrilled to be able to share it with my children, who reluctantly made many of the later moves with me. I hope they know that despite the reasons for our moves, I understood why they didn’t want to leave their friends.

I suppose my trip down memory lane has also been prompted by the smiling faces of graduates that have been displayed on FB and in our local newspaper this month. I taught many of this year’s grads when they first began their educational journey, and I’m related to a few of them, so I find myself wondering what the future holds for them. I pray they are wiser than I was and will not make any of the mistakes I made…but I suspect that some of those mistakes are universal and predictable and will be repeated. They will eventually find their way…just as I did.

I told a friend this week that life is a roller coaster and for the most part I just hang on and try not to get sick. It’s not the highs or the lows that threaten our equilibrium, but the rapid shifts from one to the other. Every aspect of our lives is subject to change and there have been some major changes lately that I haven’t been quite prepared to deal with. But despite the complications of changing relationships, declining health, and alarming political situations, my life is currently satisfying and rewarding and enjoyable. So…today I plan to write, take a few pictures, do some research, converse with friends, work on a jig-saw puzzle, read someone else’s book, and go to the gym. I’ll let you know later if God had the same plan for today. In the meantime, remember that today is the only day we have to worry about or to be satisfied with:

“Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

I received a lovely graduation announcement in the mail yesterday from one of my sweet kindergarten students of the past. Her smiling face has changed very little since that first day of school so long ago, but I know that her hopes and plans have changed. No longer does she dream of being a fairy princess or a ballerina. Now she has more realistic plans to become a nurse and she has already completed several requirements to make sure she qualifies for the training she needs.

It makes me so happy to know that she, and many others in her class, began their education journey with me and are well on their way to being successful adults. Whether they attend college, culinary school or vo-tech, join the Army or start a business, it makes little difference to me as long as they are fulfilling their own dreams and meeting their own expectations. I’ve seen too many young adults end up on the wrong path or in the wrong career because they tried to achieve the goals set for them by their parents or teachers.

My own path to a successful career and fulfilling life took several detours. There were bumps and potholes along the way. I waited until late in life (40) before I settled into the profession that suited me best. I hope that my former students find success a little sooner and that their path is a little smoother.

Best wishes class of 2019!

May all your hopes and dreams and plans lead you to health and peace and joy.

I originally wrote this in 2010, but since my thoughts haven't changed I decided to repeat it.

I made the comment to my friend Nancy that although our mothers are both in heaven, we are lucky we had moms worth remembering. It is sad, but true, that today is not a joyous day for everyone, regardless of whether their mother is alive or dead. Some mothers are that in name only. It is merely a biological technicality, not a passion. Some mothers have so many personal problems and deficiencies that they can’t find enough joy and love in their hearts to share it with others, even their own children.

My own mother suffered from depression for years, but she tried not to let it have a negative impact on others. She talked openly about it. She wrote about it. She took her medicine and lived her life to the best of her ability. She was a great mom and we shared a love of children, animals, history, art, and words. In fact the first blog post I wrote was about Mother’s words. I added it as a page today. You may want to read it later.

One of the most important things I learned from my mom was to share. She began early, by sharing me with my grandmothers. I have the remarkable privilege of know the names of most of my female ancestors back to the 1600’s. There are several books that have been written about our family, so a lot of the information I have isn’t just dreary dates and places. Much of it is actual accounts of brave women who carved out a life in this new country with their mothers and sisters and children…lots of children. Several of my ancestors had 8-12 children.

I also had the privilege of personally knowing four of my grandmothers. Great-Granny, Clara Simmons, died when I was eleven. Bigg Mama, Edna Alexander, died when I was twenty-six; I can tell you exactly where I was and what I was doing when I got the phone call. Mama, Della Springer, died when I was thirty-five. Grandma Bea, Beatrice Simmons, died the year after Mom, when I was fifty. These are the moms who helped to raise me! And when they say that it takes a village…I needed these women AND my aunts and a few “adopted” moms to make me the woman I am today. My mother wasn’t about to let the limitations of her life limit who I could become. She didn’t neglect her responsibilities or expect anyone else to teach me about life, but she never resisted the opportunities I had to learn from other women. Even if she was depressed enough to display any sort of envy, she always got passed it and we talked about it later when she was herself.

My own children may have been more influenced by my Grandma Bea’s teachings than my own, a fact that I neither regret nor envy. She was my rock, especially after my early first marriage ended in divorce. She took me in and gave me a home and helped me get my life back together at a time when it was impossible for me to return to my parents. I’m proud to say that she continued to be a part of our family through the good times as well. She was blessed to live long enough (a few days short of 92) to know her three great-great grandchildren!

So I am happy today that I am the result of generations of moms worth remembering, and that I remember some of them quite well. Granny was a stubborn, hard-working woman. She had a Grandma Moses print on her wall that was one of the early artistic influences of my life. I spent hours staring at that thing and asking her questions about it. Bigg Mama had a magical home and yard filled with flowers and food and laughter. I still remember talking with her while we watered her lilies. Della was one of the kindest, most faithful women I have ever met. She was witty and wise and practical. I loved to read her writing; I still do. Grandma Bea was a steadfast woman who never let any hardship or challenge keep her from her goal of a joyful life. She was the original “lemons=lemonade” woman.

I pray that there have been many women in your life who were or are moms worth remembering. Remember them today in your words, thoughts, and prayers. Happy Mother’s Day!!

The past two days of wild weather changed the lives of many, many people in our area and beyond. Wind and water created a path of destruction that took the life of someone precious to her community. Others were injured. Many are homeless. The months ahead will be a challenge…

As I wandered the pasture next to our home this afternoon, I felt tremendous gratitude for my own health and safety. There wasn’t any damage in our neighborhood. Our power outage lasted only moments. The four inches of rain that we received will just produce more wildflowers.

Gary and I have often discussed the contrasts and similarities between our childhoods. We were both ranch kids, raised on modest plots of ground in the San Joaquin valley of California. His family was comfortably middle-class; mine was painfully poor. His family owned their land; we leased ours. His family stayed in one place long enough to grow and harvest oranges. We moved from place to place and changed crops every few years. But despite our financial differences Gary and I lived similar daily lives. We both drove tractors and dug ditches and worked in the fields…whether we wanted to, or not. And both of us were blessed to eat an abundance of fruits and vegetables fresh from the fields and garden. I can’t recall ever being hungry. If I wanted a snack, I didn’t even ask Mom. I just wandered around and picked something.

Lately Gary and I have been comparing the foods we ate, and the way we ate them as children, to the way we eat now. A few old favorites and habits remain the same, but most of our previous “wicked ways” have been permanently eliminated by health concerns and doctor’s orders. Nowhere is that more evident than at our dining table. Our salt shaker has been empty for at least fifteen years. When we were children salt was always on the table. Everything we ate got a sprinkle. My father even salted most of the fruit he ate.

Gary’s family used fancy little glass salt cellars to hold the gleaming white crystals. They dipped green onions in them or ladled the salt with a tiny spoon. Mom kept our salt in a clear glass salt shaker, but sometimes my Dad would fetch the big cardboard carton and pour a pile of salt on his plate for his onions. Only my grandmother and great-grandmother had beautiful matching salt shakers. I was fascinated by them! And thankfully I still have my great-grandmother’s shakers. I often wonder what she would think if she knew that they haven’t held a drop of salt since they graced her table so long ago. She would probably scoff at the idea that salt is bad for you.

When I visit the museum in Caddo I always stop to gaze longingly at their collection of salt shakers. I suppose if my motivation had been stronger during the early days of our marriage, I might have collected salt shakers instead of elephants. Of course I do have elephant salt shakers, so that counts as collecting, but yes, they are empty. No one passes the salt in this house…

I was very cautious this morning as I tackled a small gardening chore. Early in the fall I had covered the base of our honeysuckle with a pile of leaves. The time has arrived to remove them so I carefully did that with my hoe and I even mulched them with the mower. When I finished, Gary took the mower and pushed it through the gate to the front yard. He hadn’t mowed more than three feet when he encountered this handsome visitor.

I tried to convince the snake to leave by gently bumping his tail with the hoe, but he was determined to stay put. Gary mowed on the other side of the yard and about thirty minutes later the snake slithered off to the neighbor’s pasture.